


Hollow, Full of Tears

by Moro



Category: Mother 3
Genre: Amnesia, Crying, Cyborgs, Depressing, Dreams, Gen, Mental Instability, Military, Minor Violence, Psychological, Sad, Self-Harm, Spoilers, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 03:05:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moro/pseuds/Moro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who is the boy in the dreams of the masked man?  Why does the Commander cry?</p><p>SPOILERS for Mother 3.  Seriously, this whole fic is a huge spoiler.  Don't read it unless you've finished Mother 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hollow, Full of Tears

**Author's Note:**

> Recommended listening: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xdsmA8K5W9A

A pair of twin boys wandered through a still and peaceful forest.  The first, with red hair that seemed to shine like copper, the second, with hair as golden as the warm sun that filtered down between the branches.  The grass was cool and soft, littered with fallen leaves and scattered wild flowers, every color startlingly bright.

The boys stopped to lean against a particularly large tree, and the first turned to the second—to a face that was an imperfect mirror of his own, gentler and more delicate somehow, but with the same clear blue eyes.

“Let’s play hide-and-seek!” the first suggested, grinning. 

“Well, okay…but no peeking,” the second replied, and his voice, also, was an echo of the first’s, but softer, more uncertain.  The red-haired boy turned to face the large tree and began counting. 

“One, two, three, four…”

The fair-haired boy dashed away, glancing over his shoulder—this time his twin wasn’t peeking.  _I know just the spot,_ he thought.

“…seven, eight, nine, ten!  Ready or not, here I come!”  The redhead darted through the trees, deftly leaping over a fallen log and through a patch of tiny white flowers.  He could hear subtle rustling all around from the gentle breeze drifting through the forest, ruffling his hair. 

“I’m gonna fiiiind you!” he sang teasingly.

The blond was crouched half-under a bush in an alcove at the top of a small slope.  _He’ll never find me in here!_ he thought, stifling a giggle as he watched his twin walk right by him without so much as a glance in his direction.

The shuffling of leaves faded, growing softer, and then silent entirely.

The red-haired boy pulled himself up the low branches of a tree at the top of the slope, moving slowly to make as little noise as possible.  He scanned the ground below, and then—  
            _Aha, there you are._

He scooted down the tree and tiptoed around to the top of the slope, trying to keep from stepping on leaves or twigs that would give him away, until he was backed against a tree, right behind the bush his twin was hidden in.

“Found you!” the copper-haired one proclaimed triumphantly, pouncing on the other boy and dragging him out of the bushes—the momentum carried them both tumbling down the slope, colliding with a log at the bottom with a solid thud.

The redhead stood, brushing leaves off his shirt.  The blond stood with a small pained sound, holding his knee.

“Ow, you made me skin my knee,” he murmured, his eyes watering a little.

“It’ll be fine.  Mom can fix it up!” his twin replied.  “Besides, I got her to make your favorite fluffy omelets for lunch.  You don’t wanna miss out on those, do you?” 

The golden-haired one smiled then, a beautiful, luminous smile that lit up his whole face.  “Really?  You asked her?” 

The redhead nodded, smiling back at him, and then the blond threw his arms around his twin, nearly knocking both of them over a second time.  The red-haired one let go after a moment, and grew strangely quiet.

“Sorry you skinned your knee,” he said after a moment.  There was a strange vulnerability in his eyes that seemed to belong better in his twin than in him. 

“Oh…”  It seemed the fair one didn’t know what to reply.  He looked away, then back at him. 

“But, it’s okay!” he answered, a far-off look in his eyes.  The sunlight seemed to coalesce around him like a spotlight, all other sounds abruptly ceasing.

“Because…I love you.”

~ * ~ * ~

            The Commander woke suddenly.  He sat up in his bed.  Tears rose unbidden to his one living eye and trickled slowly down his face. 

            _I don’t…I don’t understand.  Why am I crying again?_

The Commander tried to force the tears down, to stifle them, but it only seemed to make it worse and he forced his hand over his mouth, struggling to choke back sobs as his heart hammered in his chest. 

_Wasn’t that the boy, from Thunder Tower?_

_Why would he say he loves me?  Why would anyone…?_

He fisted his hand in the sheets and stiffened— _no, no, don’t think about it, it doesn’t matter…_

_“I love you…”_

_No, don’t think about it it’s not real it’s not it doesn’t matter…_

His breathing gradually slowed to normal.  When he released the sheets from his hand he saw he had torn them.

            _It means nothing, it is not important,_ he repeated. _It means nothing!_ What difference should it make who appeared in his dreams?

            _My purpose is to obey my orders, nothing more._

He brushed the tears from his face as if they were something contaminated, wiping his hand off on the torn sheets with a sound of disgust.  _I hate sleeping.  I never know if THIS is going to happen again._ He pulled at his hair, groaning in frustration.     

            _If I’m not sleeping, I do not want to stay here._ It was almost certainly still night, although his room had no windows for him to see.  His mechanical eye could see perfectly well in the dark anyway.  His quarters were isolated from the barracks and the pork-ship hangar by some distance (and certainly a good deal more lavish than the barren sleeping quarters accorded to the troops; even the Colonels’ rooms were nothing particularly special.)  The training yard would be empty this late, other than the usual guards stationed around important facilities. 

 _The cold air will clear my head._ No one thought it unusual for the Commander to be outside at all hours of the night…his sleeplessness was well-known, although no one would dare to comment on it. 

He dressed unhurriedly, slipping on his pants and neatly tucking them into his boots as always.  He tugged on his coat, not bothering to zip it up, and ignored the blaster, but took the sword and thrust it through his belt.

He considered not bothering with the gloves, staring blankly at the pale scars that covered his hands, though the right was far more scarred than the left, a spider’s web of thin raised lines.  After a moment he slipped his hands into the gloves anyway.  _I can’t be careless and let someone see them.  
_

The metal wall, glossy like a mirror, reflected the face always hidden beneath the mask—soft coppery hair, one eye set in a metallic socket gleaming a dull red light, and the other, the living one, shimmering blue, not clear, but frigid ice.

_He looked just like me, except for the hair…why did he look like me…?_

He felt the tears building behind his eyes again and bashed his hand into the wall, metallic ringing echoing around the room.  _No, no, no, that face is NOT like me that isn’t, it’s not!—_ he bit down hard on his tongue, wincing, until he tasted blood— _I hate this, I hate this so much, why won’t it stop?_

He picked up his mask from the table next to his bed and fitted it securely on his head, pointedly avoiding looking anywhere but the floor.

The masked man stepped outside and spat the blood onto the ground, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.  The bombastic march of the Pork Army—constantly broadcast from loudspeakers that towered above the yard—was, for once, silenced, although he could hear the bustle of the city to the south.  New Pork was as brightly lit and busy as ever, even at…whatever time it was, hundreds of people wandering the streets looking for new attractions and losing themselves in pointless revelry.  That massive, utterly ridiculous statue of Master Porky was visible even from this distance to the southeast of the Empire Pork building, its polished stone surface illuminated garishly by the colorful lights.

_This city never sleeps._

He paced between barracks, hardly looking where he was going.  He murmured his refrain over and over under his breath—if he did nothing but repeat that, the other thoughts would have no room to creep into his mind.  _It is what I must maintain._ His voice an even, cold monotone, his words delivered with the utmost formality at all times.  _It is all that I am._  

_The Commander of the Pork Army must be perfectly logical and calculating.  I must never show weakness.  I must execute orders without hesitation._

Execute.  How many had died at the strike of his heavenly thunder, or the incomprehensible deadly psychic energy he and he alone could wield, or the shimmering blade of his luminescent sword?  _I kill because my Master orders me to._

_I exist to follow orders.  I have no other purpose.  I exist to follow orders.  I have no other purpose._

There were times he even believed it.

He hadn’t noticed that he’d arrived at the pork-ship hangar until he saw the pair of pigmask guards.  It was guarded at all hours by a pair of Captains and as he approached they scrambled into a salute. 

            “C-Commander!  Good evening, sir!” said one, his voice shaking.  “How may I s-serve you?” 

            The Commander waved his hand dismissively at the captain.  “Open the hangar,” he said, voice chill and empty.  He saw the Captain tremble when he met his icy gaze.  “And close it behind me.”

            “Right away, sir!” the Captain replied.  The hangar door opened with a rumble that seemed deafening in the silence and the masked man walked inside without further comment. 

            _Why am I even in here?_ He ran his hand along the cold metal wall, feeling the rivets beneath his fingers.  At least the hangar was completely empty…no one but him would even be allowed inside during the night.

            _Well, that fat, idiotic man with the horns sticking out of his face would have the clearance.  But he’s never around here so it does not matter._ He tsk-ed in annoyance. 

_He’s going to do something stupid if Master Porky does not keep him on a shorter leash._

_Like mine._

            He slumped against the wall, sliding down to the floor.  He felt cold, but his head felt no less…disarranged.  He removed his mask and dropped it on the floor, pulling at his hair.  For the second time that night, he felt the burning of tears as they streaked down his face.    

            _I don’t want to be this.  I’m not supposed to be this!_

_Why, WHY do I feel this way?_

He buried his head in his hands and shivered, shoulders shaking, the face of the boy from his dream filling his thoughts again as if it had waited to envelop him the instant he let down his guard—that reflection of him that looked so damned _fragile_ and vulnerable but so like him, the same eyes—

            _It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter what he looks like, it means nothing, it means NOTHING—_

He curled up tightly in a ball, his chest burned and he let out a scream of frustration, scratching around his tightly shut eye— _I want to TEAR this eye out and replace it to be like the other one, then I can’t cry any more, I won’t—I won’t be—_

He jerked the sleeve up on his right arm, viciously clawing at it over and over and over with his nails until thin rivulets of blood trickled down his arm.  More scars. 

            Usually the sting of the cuts brought him back to his senses, shook him from his collapse.  But it didn’t seem of any use.  His left hand, fingertips sticky, dropped limply from his arm.

The Commander lay trembling on the cold metal floor beneath his cape, cursing himself with every shuddering breath.

~ * ~ * ~

The Commander was practicing his swordplay in the yard, dancing effortlessly around the hapless pigmask Major he’d chosen to practice with.  It was never particularly useful practice, of course—the Major was barely able to dodge the masked man’s strikes, let alone make any of his own.  Still, it was superior to never practicing at all…it gave him a strange kind of focus.

He stepped gracefully to the side, twirling his luminescent blade and parrying the Major’s clumsy attack.  The pigmask’s practice sword flipped out of his hand to fall with a clatter several feet away.

 _My sword is an extension of my body.  I am a tool for carrying out my master’s will._ Another deft strike, catching the Major on the shoulder, making him stumble, then a second strike just as quickly, catching the pigmask on the opposite shoulder, and the Major tumbled to the ground, shaking as he tried to back away and get to his feet at the same time.  The masked man’s face was impassive as he sheathed his sword. 

_I am the Commander and you are right to fear me._

His thoughts were interrupted as a Colonel dashed up to him, huffing and puffing with exertion.

“Commander!  Sir!  King Porky has new orders for you!” the pigmask panted, stooping over a little to catch his breath.  “He told me…to send for you right away, s-sir!”  The Commander stared up at him— _it doesn’t matter how small I am, you are still afraid of me.  You are all afraid of me._

“I’ll go to him now,” said the Commander, brushing a speck of dirt from his jacket.  “Get out of my way.”  He strode forward without waiting for a reply and the Colonel hastened to get out of his path, nearly tripping over himself.    

The masked man rode the elevator up to the hundredth floor in silence.  He shut his eyes against the shiny metal surface so he would not see his face, even as little of it as was left unconcealed by his mask.

When he stepped out, Master Porky was waiting for him already.  The Commander sidestepped smoothly to stand in front of the King’s metal throne. 

“Good, you’re here already.  Such a punctual slave,” said the King, with something that sounded disturbingly like affection.  “Time for a very important mission!  It’s an extra-special task just for you!”  The masked man noticed that the Pig King was looking a little frayed around the edges today, some thinness in the messy, dirty blond hair that always covered his eyes, dark shadows almost visible beneath them like smeared ashes _._ It seemed that every time he saw him, Master Porky was in a different state of health and, for that matter, a different age…some days he seemed old and frail, some days, no older than the Commander himself.  _What could he possibly be doing?_

 _Master Porky does what he wishes and it is not my place to understand,_ he quickly corrected himself, snapping automatically into position—right arm straight at his side, left arm crossed over his shoulder, head down.

 _It does not matter.  I am his tool and nothing else._  

“Your will is my own,” the Commander intoned, voice flat as always.  “How may I serve you?” 

“There’s a place called Snowcap Mountain, and you’re going to go there,” the King explained.  “At the top of this mountain is a very special magical needle sticking out of the ground.”  He stood and paced back and forth, seeming agitated and excited all at once.  “When you get there, just take this needle and pull it right out of the ground.”

The Commander hesitated.  “Master, how will I find the needle?”

Porky gave an exaggerated sigh.  “You’ll be able to feel it with that psychic power of yours,” he drawled, as if he were speaking to a child.  “Now go, and don’t come back until you’ve pulled that needle.”

“Very well, I’ll leave at once.”  The Commander turned to leave and was almost back into the elevator when Master Porky spoke again.

“If anyone tries to interfere, kill them!” the King added, his dark eyes glinting dangerously.  “You can handle that, can’t you?”

The masked man felt an odd stab of pain in his chest.  “Yes…of course,” he answered tonelessly, gave a sweeping bow, and was gone.

~ * ~ * ~

            The flight to Snowcap Mountain was uneventful.  The Commander stared mutely out the window, though he was paying no attention to the landscape below. 

            The two pork-ships had been filled with a handful of pigmask troops (although they were mostly just standard crew needed to fly the ships themselves) and a new mechanical chimera, a hulking gorilla-like beast with two enormous steel spheres for hands.  Master Porky had told him to “Let this cool monster take all the hits if anyone shows up.” 

The mountain was a picturesque wintry wilderness dotted with quaint snowmen and scattered wild animals.  Between some cliffs, as the ship passed overhead, the Commander could see an odd little house, shaped like a spiral shell in a light pink color and fringed with frost, and he sensed a powerful energy emanating from within, dancing invisibly over his skin.

Though the ship was moving away from the shell house, the sensation only intensified, like thousands of tiny sparks.  _So, the needle is close._ He moved to the front and tapped the Captain on the shoulder.

“It’s there.  Go,” he ordered tersely, pointing into the clearing. 

“Ah!  Yes, Commander!” replied the Captain, startled.  He relayed the order to the other ship and banked downward to land.

The ships came in for an ungraceful landing, awkwardly crunching down into the ice with a loud crash and an avalanche of snow from an overhanging cliff.  One of the oddly-shaped snowmen slumped into a pile of slush from the impact.

            The pigmasks stood in unison, preparing to file out of the ship, but the Commander held up a hand to halt them.

“Don’t follow me.  Just send the chimera out, I’ll keep it in reserve.”  The pigmasks abruptly stopped in their tracks, standing at attention.  The Captain transmitted the command to the other ship. 

“If anyone interrupts me, retreat immediately.  I’ll return to Master Porky on my own if necessary.” 

            “Y-yes, sir!” the Captain replied, though he sounded surprised.  The hulking mechanical beast loped down the ramp behind the masked man.  He waved his hand at the beast and muttered a command, and the monster shuffled off to the side against the cliff wall, sitting and waiting for a command.

            In the center of the clearing was a tall, thin spike, gleaming like polished gold, with a design at the top like a pair of flapping wings.  The needle was sunk deep into the ice surrounding it, and three deep cracks snaked outward.  Shimmering light emanated from the crevices and the needle itself seemed to pulse with energy.  He could faintly hear a soft humming sound that seemed to come from deep beneath the ice.  Standing this close to it, the power emanating from it was almost painful, miniscule tongues of fire licking at his skin.

            _What purpose does this needle serve?  I wonder._

The Commander stood in front of the needle and carefully placed his hands beneath the wings to grasp it.  The humming grew louder and the needle seemed to grow warm beneath his hands.  He grasped it hard, and pulled it straight up.

            Instantly a brilliant beam of white light shot upward from the hole, following the line of the needle, until with a shattering sound the needle disintegrated in his hands.  He stumbled backwards as the ground beneath him shook violently, an ominous rumbling coming from somewhere deep within.  A plume of violet smoke suddenly erupted from the crevice, then sank down again just as suddenly, percolating in a small cloud inside the hole.

            The Commander felt a swelling of power inside him and a chromatic energy crackled around his hands and his eyes—he grit his teeth together, feeling the force like a thousand infinitesimal cuts that drew no blood.  And then, the colors dimmed and faded.  The masked man flexed his hand…something felt different.  _The needle did…something, with my power.  What is it?_ He shook his head; if Master Porky thought it was important that he knew, then he would be told, otherwise, it was no concern of his.

            He was about to turn to leave when he heard the crunching of snow behind him.  He whirled around and saw three forms rounding a corner to enter the clearing.  He straightened, readied the blaster on his right arm, and pulled out his sword.

            There was a large, scruffy brown dog, a girl with boyish, spiky pink hair clad in a loose blue dress, and then, behind them…

            A small, delicate-looking boy with sad blue eyes and golden hair.  For a long moment, no one spoke, as the boy gazed into the Commander’s eyes with a melancholic expression. 

            The Commander snapped his head away, eye watering, shaking with anger— _it’s him, it IS him, why why why WHY—_ reeling as if he’d been struck, a deep pain throbbing in his chest.  The hulking chimera had spotted the interlopers and without waiting for a command, it lumbered toward them with a rumbling mechanical bellow, its massive fists shaking the ground.

            _I-I can’t…I don’t want to…no…_ The masked man felt sick and fought to concentrate, unfolding his mechanical wings and lifting off as quickly as he could, forcing himself not to look at the boy far below as he and his allies were charged by the steel beast.  He spiraled through the air and out of sight. 

            _I don’t want to see his face…_

_I don’t want to see him live._

_I don’t want to see him die._

A single tear rolled down his cheek.

_Why?_


End file.
